<!DOCTYPE html>
<html>
<head>
<meta charset="UTF-8">
<title>Interest Club by Anonymous</title>
<style type="text/css">

body { background-color: #ffffff; }
.CI {
text-align:center;
margin-top:0px;
margin-bottom:0px;
padding:0px;
}
.center   {text-align: center;}
.cover    {text-align: center;}
.full     {width: 100%; }
.quarter  {width: 25%; }
.smcap    {font-variant: small-caps;}
.u        {text-decoration: underline;}
.bold     {font-weight: bold;}
</style>
</head>
<body>
<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166393">Interest Club</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/'>Anonymous</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Haikyuu!!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anonymous Sex, Blindfolds, Handcuffs, Love Confessions, M/M, Mutual Pining, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex Club, Translation, Twincest</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-07 00:49:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,659</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27166393</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Osamu keeps his feelings hidden and tries to distract himself by sleeping with people whose names he doesn't even ask for. He thinks of Atsumu every single time anyway.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Miya Atsumu/Miya Osamu</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>289</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Anonymous</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Interest Club</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">


        <li>
            A translation of

            <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067651">Клуб по интересам</a> by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anri_Kohaku/pseuds/Anri_Kohaku">Anri_Kohaku</a>.
        </li>

    </ul></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It’s not the first time for Osamu, but as always he still feels like he’s making a mistake.</p><p>On the laptop screen in front of him is a profile with one picture, cut off at the neck. Osamu doesn’t judge, he himself doesn’t show his face on the questionnaire. Out of the dozens of people who look at his profile only a few get to meet him personally, and that’s already a few more than he’s comfortable with. He would prefer to keep his anonymity even with the partners he chooses. Or maybe, he shouldn’t get involved at all… </p><p>He furrows his eyebrows and lowers the lid of the laptop, trying to convince himself for the third time today to switch to something else. This club that he found—it’s his blessing and his curse. They help to organize meetings, mostly for one-night stands, while also taking responsibility on themselves to verify the data from the profiles, checking references and providing rooms on their own territory. Convenient, safe and absolutely nothing personal. Osamu has managed to become their permanent client over the last year. No matter how  much he shames himself, it always ends the same way: with a sigh he lifts the laptop lid again and presses on ‘Send message’. </p><p>&gt;&gt; Hi. I feel like many of our interests align. How about getting to know each other better? </p><p>The first message is standard, he doesn’t even think while typing it down. By interests he obviously doesn’t mean movies or books, but the list of kinks and preferred positions. This guy prefers to bottom and leans towards submissiveness. Just what he needs. </p><p>The answer comes pretty quickly.</p><p>&lt;&lt; Hey! Nice picture, you’re hot. Wanna fuck? </p><p>Osamu looks at the message for a long time and checks the age on the profile just in case. They should be the same age, but it sounds like he’s talking to a teenager. Osamu probably isn’t better in his daily life considering who he had to grow up with, but there are moments when you need to turn on the politeness. Everyone knows that. Should know that.</p><p>&gt;&gt; Yes, exactly what I wanted to suggest.</p><p>He still gives it a chance. He’s comforted by the fact that they won’t have to talk much. It’s not a date, after all. He doesn’t need personally sympathy or affection, he doesn’t need anything but good—or at least any—sex. Solely because his thoughts have been occupied by the same person for many years. Firmly and hopelessly. Osamu knows that he can’t have a relationship with anyone else, can’t give them even a drop of his feelings. He tried, and ultimately only wasted his and someone else’s time. At this point he takes it as fact, unchangeable: his whole life he loved, and will continue to love, only Atsumu. And this love is not the kind that is expected—or allowed—between brothers. It’s all-encompassing, deeper, much more tender and sensual. As he grew up Osamu learned to see the difference and hide the dangerous edges.</p><p>Sometimes he feels like Atsumu understands. There’s definitely a connection between them unlike anything else, special, mutual in many ways. After all, they’re the closest people to each other in the entire universe. That could be enough.</p><p>However there’s another side which is not as easy to come to terms with: Atsumu is attractive. It just had to be him, with all of his ideal features and tiny imperfections. He summons a hunger that is impossible to satiate with anyone else—even if Osamu tries. This is his only way not to cave. He meets up with strangers he doesn’t want and, ignoring his conscience, imagines Atsumu in their place.</p><p>Is he ashamed? Of course. Is he disgusted with himself? And how. Can he stop? Absolutely not.</p><p>He specifically looks for profiles of guys with “blond” and “does sports”. It’s good if height and age also match. It’s ideal if he doesn’t mind being tied up and gagged, so that nothing can ruin the fantasy.</p><p>His newest choice matches all parameters. Regardless of his rash speech, there’s nothing categorically repulsive about him. So, they steadily start to discuss the details of their meeting, choosing a time that is convenient for both. When the main questions are dealt with and Osamu is ready to say goodbye, another message appears.</p><p>&lt;&lt; How about me being blindfolded? </p><p>Osamu hums to himself in interest. Even better for him if half of his partner's face is hidden under a blindfold.</p><p>&gt;&gt; Of course, if you want to.</p><p>&lt;&lt; Like, from the very beginning. I don’t wanna know how you look.</p><p>&gt;&gt; Rude.</p><p>&lt;&lt; Yeah I’m picky like that. I like your body in the picture and thank god I haven’t seen your face. If I don’t like it even one bit, that’s it, not gonna work out.</p><p>At least he’s honest, Osamu thinks. It’s funny to him, but on the whole he doesn’t mind. It’s not like he’s trying to charm anyone with his looks.</p><p>&gt;&gt; Yeah, I don’t care</p><p>&lt;&lt; You’re not offended?</p><p>&gt;&gt; I said I don’t care</p><p>&lt;&lt; And well, you know… </p><p>His senses tell him that another weird message is coming. The speech bubble appears and disappears several times. </p><p>&lt;&lt; I usually close my eyes and imagine someone I like. So… </p><p>Osamu can’t help his laughter. Another poor sod in love, they really are a great match. He hopes that he’s not expected to be supportive or answer questions about himself. He barely has his own life together, he doesn’t need anyone else’s drama. So he replies neutrally, confirms the time of meeting again, and the conversation fades away there.</p><p>***</p><p>On the agreed-upon day Osamu is exhausted from anticipation. It doesn’t help at all that Atsumu posted another selfie of himself in the gym with a fully drenched shirt, driving him to the edge of his sanity. Osamu is even glad that lately they call each other more than they meet in person, because it would be difficult to control himself otherwise. He really needs to let off some steam. </p><p>A smiling attendant meets him at the club, telling him that his partner is already waiting in the room. He guides Osamu to the bathroom, even though he’s been here enough times to memorize the way by now. He hands him the card key, and then leaves.</p><p>Taking a quick shower, Osamu puts on the complementary bathrobe made from dark blue silk. Too tacky for his taste, but more importantly, it’s comfortable—can be taken off within seconds. He moves to the other door, which leads right into the room. Pleasant excitement blooms in his chest. </p><p>Osamu turns the door handle, steps inside, and his heart skips a beat. He blinks, closing the door behind him without looking. This guy… He looks so much like Atsumu that for a second he actually believed it might be him. Osamu takes a deep breath, opens his eyes and once again comes dangerously close to having a heart attack. Because he didn’t just believe. There’s no mistake. He’s watched Atsumu since childhood, they grew up together, became grown together. Even if lately they’ve been further away from each other—how could Osamu not recognize those terrible paint-tained locks, that sharp jawline, those lean muscles, the mole on his stomach, the burn scar on his left knee? </p><p>He feels the earth drop beneath his feet, his lungs squeezing tight. He needs to run, run, immediately—his inner voice yells at him hysterically, but his body doesn’t obey. </p><p>Slowly he comes to realize that Atsumu doesn’t know anything. Just like they agreed, he has a blindfold on. The blindfold and black boxers—that’s all he’s wearing. He’s lying down on the pillows, relaxed, calm. He has no idea about the kind of catastrophe that is happening right now. Osamu wants to scream and slam the door. Now he has to live with this all by himself, as if he doesn’t have enough secrets already. He grabs the door handle with a numb hand. He has to leave. Never ever think about how he and Atsumu messaged each other about how exactly they want to have sex.</p><p>Atsumu won’t find out.</p><p>His heartbeat is deafening.</p><p>Atsumu won’t find out, even if he stays.</p><p>Guilt, sharp like never before, overwhelms his mind. At the same time something sweet pulls under his ribs. Osamu carefully, like a thief, turns his eyes to Atsumu: he looks just like in his fantasies. Exposed, open, waiting.</p><p>“You gonna stand there long?” he calls out. There’s such an intimately familiar impatience in his voice. “I’ve been lying here for half an hour.”</p><p>And with that Osamu understands another thing. Atsumu came here to sleep with a stranger. He cares so little that he doesn’t even want to know who’s going to fuck him. So what does it matter?</p><p>On shaky legs he approaches the bed and sits down on the edge. The corners of Atsumu’s lips rise.</p><p>“Finally.”</p><p>He blindly reaches out his hand, almost catches Osamu, but he hits him on the back of his hand, like a cat that’s trying to steal food from the table. Atsumu raises both hands, showing that he gives in.</p><p>“So I should behave?” he laughs. “Alright, whatever you say.”</p><p>Carefree as always. It’s irritating. Osamu clenches his teeth. In truth he’s angry at himself. His head is a total mess, voices shouting over each other. One claims that it’s all Atsumu’s fault and everything is fair here. The other firmly insists: it’s just an excuse, Osamu is trying to embellish that which cannot be embellished. If he stays—he’ll do something terrible. If Atsumu found out, if he took off his blindfold now, he’d grimace in disgust and throw him out the door. He’d be right to do so. To use his lack of sight—it would be deceit. Osamu cannot do that, if he loves him just a little bit.</p><p>He bites his lip, tries to pull himself away with the pain. And yet, his gaze slides over to the body stretched out in front of him once again.</p><p>In the end, the winner is the voice that desperately says: he’ll never get a chance like this again. Ever again.</p><p>Bile rises up in his throat, already familiar disgust with himself. Osamu swallows it and carelly places his hand on his brother’s knee. They touch each other often, but this is completely different. Atsumu leans into his touch, spreads his legs wider, skin getting goose-bumps. He likes it, he wants more, and Osamu’s heart is already jumping out of his chest from such a trivial thing. </p><p>He traces the large expanse of his thigh, remembers how many times he stared at these legs in short volleyball shorts. There’s so much strength in them that it makes him shiver. Today—Osamu sighs brokenly—maybe he will get to feel those thighs squeezing his side. </p><p>His hand moves to his stomach, fingers counting his ribs. He wants to explore every centimeter, try out all types of sensentations, memorize every last detail of it.</p><p>"You sure you're not a virgin?" Atsumu, as always, spoils the best moment with his comments. “Go on, do something already.”</p><p>Osamu pinches his nipple in reply, and Atsumu arches his body, hisses in annoyance. Or on the contrary, maybe it’s pleasure? Who the hell knows. At least he shuts up and lays down obediently.</p><p>Osamu moves closer, sits down between spread knees. Their thighs touch between the thin fabric of the bathrobe, and his skin burns under the cool silk. Leaning forward, Osamu freezes, tries to gather his courage before their first kiss.</p><p>“You’ve been quiet since the beginning. You mute or what?” Atsumu asks. He can’t stay still after all. After a moment he quickly breathes in: “Wait, you’re actually mute? Sorry, I didn’t mean… It’s just kinda awkward in this silence, I don’t even know if you like me or anything.”</p><p>Osamu understands that he won’t stand a second more of this chatter. Usually he can at least interrupt and answer. Though there is a way to manage without words. As soon Atsumu opens his mouth—he pushes his fingers in and catches his tongue. </p><p>The corners of his lips go up yet again, Atsumu relaxes, instantly adjusting to the conditions of the game. It’s as if he wanted it from the beginning—more attention. Osamu releases the tongue but doesn’t move his fingers, and Atsumu licks them, puts his lips around them and pulls them in deeper, right up until the knuckle. </p><p>‘God,’ Osamu thinks panically. </p><p>He never could’ve imagined that his brother is actually such a slut. It’s all he’s ever dreamed of. The last remnants of his conscience crumble, it held out long enough as is, considering how many challenges it has to face. Osamu removes his hand, wiping the spit on Atsumu’s chin, leans down and presses lips to lips. Not even a second passes before a tongue pushes into his mouth. He has no chance to gather his thoughts. You’d think that it was him who finally got what he wanted, but between the two of them it’s Atsumu who is unrestrained, greedily. And that’s all on him.</p><p>Blood roars in his ears like echoes of an inner storm. ‘It’s all real’—Osamu tells himself, and it’s his last coherent thought. Never in his life has he kissed a person that he loves with his whole heart and wants with every fiber of his being. If he has to hate and judge himself until the end of time—it’s worth it. In this moment he firmly knows that he won’t run, won’t say no, will take as much as he can. </p><p>Atsumu sighs into the kiss, incredibly responsive. It’s so easy to tell that he’s enjoying what’s happening, and it’s only the beginning. He hugs his neck, pulls him closer, and pushes his hands under the bathrobe. In a moment of clarity, Osamu takes the hands and pushes them to the mattress. He’s not sure if it’s possible to recognize each other by touch, but he doesn’t want to risk it. The safest thing would be to tie up Atsumu, and that’s not even such an absurd idea, considering that a firm ‘yes’ stood next to ‘bondage’ on the other’s profile.</p><p>Pulling back, Osamu taps on his knee, hoping that it’s enough of a command to stay put. He gets up from the bed and moves to the shelf with various devices. There are toys to anyone’s tastes provided in the club’s rooms. Osamu has been here often enough to know that they’re sorted by usage: the most popular ones are usually on the central shelf, while the most obscure ones are hidden in cupboards. He quickly finds what he needs. Between chains and ropes he picks out a pair of classic handcuffs—metal and nothing else. These ones are going to ruthlessly dig into skin when trying to escape, but they’re just right for Atsumu. He’s acting up again.</p><p>“M-mh? Guess it won’t be boring.”</p><p>For a second Osamu lets himself fantasize about taking a ballgag and not hearing any annoying remarks. Alas, in reality he still needs to give Atsumu the option to say ‘no’ or to show it with his actions. So—either the handcuffs, or the gag. He sticks with his initial choice.  </p><p>Returning to his previous place, he makes Atsumu present his hand and puts the handcuffs in it, giving him the chance to know what’s coming. He guides his fingers, helps him find the safety lever, so he can free himself. After all, Atsumu thinks that he’s with a complete stranger, so he’s going to be more confident and calmer knowing that he has the situation under control. Though really, he doesn’t look worried in the slightest.</p><p>“Yeah, yeah, I know how it works, not my first time,” he says with a smirk. “Put them on already.”</p><p>He obediently presents his wrists. Oh, if only Osamu could talk, he would surely make fun of the person saying he’s a bottom but still trying to give out orders. He allows himself some freedom: clicks his tongue, to show displeasure. Atsumu only laughs at him lowly.</p><p>Closing one of the cuffs, Osamu pulls them up and around the crossbar at the headboard and secures the second wrist. He looks at the result and feels another phantom blow to his stomach. Atsumu is in front of him, lying there for him, ready to take whatever he wants to do with him. He’s absurdly beautiful. Sometimes it’s hard to believe that they’re twins, it doesn’t compute in Osamu’s head that some people think they’re the same. He knows that he also looks good, but he never feels such suffocating waves of excitement looking at himself in the mirror.</p><p>He drops the bathrobe from his shoulders, the fabric flowing pleasantly over his skin, giving the illusion of coolness. Osamu is already ready to throw it to the side when he gets an idea. He removes the belt, folds it in half. He runs the end over Atsumu’s stomach, who inhales sharply. His chest heaves as silk glides over sharply defined ribs, smooth fabric to flawlessly smooth skin. Osamu flattens the belt and moves its entire length between Atsumu’s legs—a light, teasing touch, which already makes Atsumu squirm in place. He goes up again, over stomach and chest, the belt flows to his collarbones, touching his cheek, and Atsumu leans his face into it, not even hiding how hungry he is for touch. Finally, Osamu wraps the belt around his neck and tugs on the ends, ever so slightly.</p><p>It feels like he’s the one being choked instead, with air being stuck in his lungs. Atsumu throws his head back, prostrating himself. A blush is visible on his cheeks under the blindfold. He really does like it. He likes it, which means Osamu can continue to do whatever he wants.</p><p>“You can go harder,” Atsumu suggests, unexpectedly quiet.</p><p>Osamu can’t help his smile. He strokes Atsumu’s neck with his fingertips, gently and carefully. He will definitely go ‘harder’. Only later. For now, he leans down and kisses the place he just touched. He leaves kisses over his jawline, licks over his Adam’s apple, bites down on his earlobes. Atsumu’s breathing becomes louder, starts to break. He wraps his legs around his waist, holding him close until Osamu shifts lower. No need to rush. He intends to pay attention to every single part of his body, biting, licking, absorbing reactions, memorizing, melting into this endless moment that will never repeat.</p><p>When he moves down to the stomach Atsumu is already quietly moaning, sometimes arching into his touch, sometimes squirming away when his teeth run over a protruding bone. The fabric of his boxers is already strained with his hard cock. Osamu deliberately ignores it and proceeds onto his thighs. Marks appear on the light skin, on either side. Holding onto his leg, Osamu touches the thin skin under his knee with his tongue, and Atsumu shudders in his arms, the metal of the handcuffs ringing. Osamu soothingly runs both palms over his skin, feels the wet traces of his own spit. He barely touches the rim of the boxers—Atsumu lifts his hips so they’re easier to take off. His cock already glistens from precum, red and demanding attention. Osamu runs his fist over it, and Atsumu sighs with obvious satisfaction.</p><p>“Yes, more…”</p><p>He’s simple and open about his wants, which isn’t a surprise, it’s just like him. It’s captivating all the same. Leaning down, Osamu puts his lips around the head, taking it further into his mouth. He tries not to think. Just not think about anything. He doesn’t need to imagine that it’s Atsumu like he usually does. This is real, and now he just has to give in to the feeling. He relaxes his throat, allows the cock to slide in slowly, not feeling any resistance. On the contrary, his own excitement is becoming more and more obvious, heat gathering under his stomach. The moans in the background make his head spin.</p><p>Atsumu’s hips start to tremble, thrusting slightly upwards, and Osamu straightens up. Of course, a disappointed whine follows.</p><p>“Don’t stop so suddenly,” Atsumu complains on an exhale.</p><p>He clenches and unclenches his fists, scarlet stripes on his wrists where the handcuffs dug in as he squirmed. He looks worse for wear. Hair mussed up, his blush travelled from his cheeks to his neck. Osamu runs his gaze over him, unable to get enough. He wants to start from the beginning—cover him in kisses, take him into his mouth again… He will play these memories over and over in his mind, and he will never get tired of them because they’re better than any fantasy. This really happened, after all. It’s happening right here, right now.</p><p>He moves over to be on Atsumu’s side, and tugs on his shoulder. Somewhat clumsily the other turns onto his stomach, pushing his face into the pillows. He’s probably not very comfortable with his cock squished against the mattress. He pulls up his knees in an attempt to raise his hips. His waist draws a seductive curve and Osamu is too weak to resist: he leans down and traces his spine with open lips, kisses the dimples on the small of his back.</p><p>Conveniently, there’s several types of lube ready on the bedside table. Osamu reaches out for a familiar brand, and pours out a good amount onto his fingers. Atsumu raises his hips even higher when he touches his entrance, trying to get up onto his elbows and falling down weakly.</p><p>“Shh.” Osamu massages his shoulder and at the same time, presses a finger inside.</p><p>Atsumu takes a deep breath, relaxes, muscles loosening. Soon he manages to push in a second finger, moving much easier, deeper, right up to the knuckles. He strokes his back with his other hand. He scratches between the shoulderblades with short nails and can tell from the resounding moan that he found a sensitive spot. He follows it up with leaving a trail of kisses on the same spot until his nose reaches the back of his neck. The scent of mint shampoo and sweat enters his lungs—it’s so familiar that it almost feels like his own. </p><p>He adds another finger once Atsumu gives him the sign and hears a barely audible “Yes, like that.” There’s no feigned confidence left in his voice, only sincerity. It’s disarming. Osamu kisses behind his ear, nuzzles into him, but his heart stops from the fear that there’s too much inappropriate tenderness in the gesture.</p><p>“Come on,” Atsumu begs. “It’s enough.”</p><p>But no, Osamu isn’t done playing yet. He thrusts his fingers in at the same steady rhythm, making it clear that he’s not heeding the words. Atsumu bites into the pillow, groans in disappointment, but can’t do anything else but push back harder and try to grind his cock into the mattress. He doesn’t seem to care about how shameless he looks doing so.</p><p>Without stopping, Osamu takes the edges of the belt, wraps them around his fist and tugs, watching how the line of fabric digs deeper and deeper into Atsumu’s neck. He drops his head, gasping for air with hoarse, shallow breaths. The more he leans back the more Osamu tugs on the belt. He lets go after a certain amount of time, lets him catch his breath, and starts all over again. He does it several times, and his mind briefly acquires crystal clarity—he perceives every detail, feels when he can still push harder, and when it’s time to stop. At least Atsumu has stopped resembling a sane person. His head low in the pillows, he mutters something indistinctly, straining his already laboured breathing. He sobs when Osamu removes his fingers.</p><p>He’s in such a nice, lost state. Osamu’s pulse quickens from the way he looks, the sounds he makes. His attention focuses on a single point, leaving only Atsumu—everything else melts away, as if behind a misty haze. </p><p>Osamu doesn’t even notice what he’s doing: how he removes his underwear, takes a condom of the right size and rolls it onto his cock. The only thing he can think about when he lies down on top of Atsumu is how their bodies touch without any clothes or distance. There’s not a single barrier left between them, and nothing has ever felt this right to Osamu.</p><p>He squirms from the pleasure crashing over him to the tips of his fingers. His lubed cock enters smoothly, the muscles accepting him pliantly. Atsumu tries to press up against him despite the weight pressing onto him. Osamu likes it this way—pushing him into the mattress, chest falling onto his back, panting harshly into his neck and hearing the same kind of uneven breathing up close.</p><p>Sometimes he moves his hips slowly, letting himself savour every ounce of this new experience before starting a steady rhythm. He’d like to last longer so he won’t have to move away, so Atsumu will continue to want him by his side—on him, in him, just a little longer, but the pleasure grows within him with inevitable force and it’s impossible to stop.  </p><p>“Fuck, yes, harder,” Atsumu doesn’t shut up under him and it’s not irritating for the first time in his life, but pulling at something completely feral within Osamu.</p><p>He groans roughly and digs his teeth into the back of his neck as he continues thrusting into Atsumu, pushing himself towards release. There’s no familiar disillusionment after his orgasm, because now his fantasy doesn’t dissipate. Opening his eyes, Osamu sees the exact same picture—disheveled light hair, marks from his bite on his neck—and his heart beats so fast that he feels like it’ll never calm down.  </p><p>He rolls over to the side, removes the condom and throws it into the trash can. After just a second without attention Atsumu whines, begging without words, and he wants to reply that it’s all okay, nothing has ended yet, he’s going to feel even better now. Osamu tries to convey all of that through touch. He helps him turn onto his back, strokes over his shoulders, his chest, moves to the cock that feels hot and heavy in his hand. He kisses his open mouth, his chin, his neck. He tugs the bathrobe belt from under his neck when Atsumu suddenly starts frantically whispering.</p><p>“No-no-no…”</p><p>He only calms down once a hand comes to rest on his neck. Osamu presses down carefully, cutting off his breathing. The pulse races under his fingers and he thinks that Atsumu’s whole body is trembling. Even Osamu, the closest person to him, has rarely seen such vulnerability. He doesn’t let go once he stops the chocking, continues to gently stroke his neck. For the first time in his life he looks at his partner’s face and doesn’t want to look away. On the contrary, he can’t stop staring. Even with half his face hidden under the blindfold, it’s enough to see his bitten lips or a drop of sweat running down his temple—small signs that Atsumu is feeling good right now. And all that because of Osamu. He’ll never know, but Osamu will always remember that he brought him to this, took his sanity apart with his own hands, brought his thirst to light and quenched it, too. He can instinctually tell that Atsumu is close, and slows down on purpose. Clenching his teeth, the other thrusts his hips up, fucking into his fist. He moans with a certain type of desperation but the word ‘please’ still doesn’t fall from his lips. Maybe he’s not even capable of talking at this point.</p><p>Osamu doesn’t let him go over the edge on purpose, drawing out one torturous minute after another. He touches him just the smallest bit lighter than he needs. The cock in his hand pulses, wet from precum. Atsumu arches up, throws his head from side to side as if staying still is absolutely unbearable for him. Osamu also feels feverish solely from the thought that all of these reactions are subject to his every will and desire. </p><p>He wants to see more. That’s why he stops the teasing.</p><p>“Yes, god…” Atsumu sighs as he gasps for breath as sperm spills onto his stomach. “Nh… Samu… Yes, my Samu…”</p><p>He devolves into unintelligible whispering, but Osamu manages to catch the last word. So clearly, like thunder among complete silence. Freezing fear paralyzes his whole body. Did he get distracted? Did he reveal himself somehow? He removes his hand, forces himself to look up, searching for where he went wrong. It’s hard to focus from his rising panic, and yet—he looks at Atsumu’s face, fighting the impulse to give up, run the hell away, and maybe fake his death and never show himself to anyone ever again. He studies Atsumu closely, but can only see that the blindfold is still securely covering his eyes. Atsumu licks his dry lips and sighs contently. He doesn’t try to say anything anymore, doesn’t hurry to blame him or curse at him. As if nothing happened.</p><p>But—Osamu definitely heard…  </p><p>And slowly, awfully carefully, fearfully, the thought that Atsumu still doesn’t know creeps up on him. The idea is unbelievable, but as he remembers that they’re similar in many ways, it becomes easier to believe. They’re the same kind of idiot. Osamu presses his hand to his mouth so not a single one of his feelings doesn’t make it to the surface. He thinks he’s on the verge of hysteria.</p><p>Somewhere out of the furthest corner, his mind presents the last piece of evidence to him. He sees one of the messages that Atsumu sent him anonymously. ‘I usually think of someone I like.’</p><p>Osamu shivers, can barely hold himself together, even easy things like breathing in and out he has to will himself to do. His voice sounds strange when he speaks for the very first time.</p><p>“Say that again.”</p><p>Atsumu freezes for a second, clearly caught off guard.</p><p>“M-m? Sorry, sorry,” he laughs nervously, still not having caught his breath fully. “I said someone else’s name, didn’t mean to. I forgot myself. It was too good…”</p><p>He turns to stone once again, even longer this time. His open mouth freezes too. He frowns.</p><p>“Ah?” he finally says. </p><p>It took him a while to recognize the voice. Osamu’s mouth curls upwards, he’s beginning to let go a little. Atsumu also comes to life—with unexpected fervor.</p><p>“Hey-hey!” he calls out, trying to free his hands and hissing when the metals digs deep into his skin. “What the hell! You say that again!”</p><p>He rubs his face against his shoulder and the pillow, trying in vain to remove the blindfold. He seems to have completely forgotten that he could easily free himself by pulling at the trigger of the handcuffs. As always he throws himself at every problem with reckless force.</p><p>Osamu catches him by the hair so he stops moving his head, but Atsumu starts struggling even more at that.</p><p>“Calm down, it’s okay,” Osamu pleads.</p><p>Surprisingly, the words work. Atsumu stops immediately. He has no doubts anymore about who is with him, and that seems to be enough.</p><p>“Get the blindfold off,” he says with a weak voice that’s striking in its calmness.</p><p>Osamu listens. First he removes the handcuffs, then he removes the blindfold himself before Atsumu can get to it. Their eyes meet and it feels like a full-force hit to his stomach. Atsumu's eyes water against the light, but he stubbornly refuses to blink. His eyebrows come together in a pained furrow. Unbearable. Osamu feels like he’ll start crying himself, but he doesn’t have any excuses.</p><p>“What does this mean?” Atsumu asks. “How did you find me here? Why?”</p><p>“Sorry.” Osamu crumples the ribbon in his hands, still with a knot in it. He has the same type of knot under his ribs, making it hard to breathe and talk normally. “I didn’t look for you. I didn’t know until I came here. And then I saw you…”</p><p>Atsumu looks at him with wide eyes, questions swimming in them.</p><p>“Sorry,” Osamu repeats and put a hand to his cheek to calm him down. He feels that both of them need that right now.</p><p>“Why did you stay? You knew it was me immediately… right?”</p><p>Osamu has seen him in many ways, at his best and at his worst. But like this—scared, lost, full of hope—this he sees for the first time. He nods with a soft smile.</p><p>“Samu,” Atsumu breathes and raises both hands to press his palm against his cheeks, as if he doesn’t believe that this is not an illusion.</p><p>Osamu strokes his cheekbone with his thumb, and then he leans down and sees that Atsumu meets him halfway. Even after everything that happened, this kiss feels like their first—because for the first time they both know what they’re doing, and are revealing their hidden feelings to each other. Atsumu reciprocates, albeit awkwardly, sluggishly. What’s important is that he reciprocates. Osamu has never felt such euphoria from a simple touch on his lips. Atsumu hugs his shoulders and whispers:</p><p>“I always thought about you. And today… Everything felt so real today… I probably lost it. Can’t tell what’s real…”</p><p>“It’s really me.” Osamu kisses his face, not capable of pulling away. “It’s all real. You don’t have to close your eyes anymore."</p><p>Saying it he realizes that he also doesn’t need it anymore. Never again will he have to lie to himself, cling to fantasies and endlessly try to fill the emptiness within himself. He looks at Atsumu, and he looks at Osamu, and for the first time in his life, the feeling of hunger gives way to satisfaction.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>This work is only a translation so if you liked it, please consider leaving a kudos and comment on the <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27067651">original</a>  instead&lt;3</p></blockquote></div></div>
</body>
</html>